Last Chance
by WinterStorrm
Summary: School is almost over and it's Blaise's last chance.


**Title:** Last chance  
**Pairing:** Blaise/Harry  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Word Count**: 1,068  
**Spoilers: **None  
**Warnings**: None  
**Disclaimer:** The characters depicted herein belong JK Rowling and associated publishers. I make no profit from this endeavour.  
**Author's Notes:** Written for daisychain_drab Round 8. Beta read by singlemomsummer, edited since, mistakes all mine.  
**Summary:** School is almost over and it's Blaise's last chance.

:::

"Look, Zabini—I've told you I'm not interested, so if you wouldn't mind—?" Harry looks pointedly past Zabini before glancing up at him with the intention of repeating his instructions for him to move the hell out of his way. "I said—" but the words die in his throat. There's something in Zabini's eyes and it isn't amusement.

Harry pushes past him ducking his shorter frame through the door to the side of Zabini's bulk and makes haste towards the Gryffindor table. Bloody hell, the way Zabini had been looking at him…

"Are you alright, Harry? You look a little flushed." Hermione smiles at him, the gentle reassuring smile that makes his heartbeat settle a little, back into the familiar.

"Zabini again," he says under his breath, not wanting his other classmates to hear him. Ron knows about Zabini's efforts to—to what?—and thinks it's hilarious, but Ron is loyal, he's kept it under his hat.

"The war is over, Harry," Hermione reminds him, as if he wasn't fully aware of that, helping herself to the potatoes. "And Zabini is the best looking boy in school next to Malfoy. I don't understand why you won't give him a chance."

_Because the last person I kissed lost interest when everything calmed down after the war and she realised I was just boring old Harry Potter. Because the first person I kissed cried. Because I've never kissed a boy and I feel things when Zabini looks at me that make me worry that he's just going to rip out my heart and trample it into tiny pieces and I don't think I can take another kick right now_.

"What's the point?" Harry says now, ignoring the sensation of Zabini's eyes burning into the back of his head. "After today we all go our separate ways anyway."

"You make it sound as though everyone just ceases to exist once we leave here, Harry." Hermione fixes him in her gaze and he knows he's trapped. "I think he really likes you—he's not going to change his mind once we're out of here."

"Hey, what are we talking about?" Ron bellows loudly as he clambers onto the bench beside Harry and immediately starts filling his plate with roast potatoes.

Harry catches Hermione's eye. "Nothing much, Ron," she says, "Just wondering if people will stay in touch once we leave here."

"Way I see it is that if someone's a friend and means something to you, you won't lose touch," Ron glances between them. "Wait—you don't mean _us_ do you because we'll always be friends us three, no matter what happens."

"No, Ron, not us," Harry tells him, nudging him affectionately with an elbow. "Just, people, you know."

:::

It comes to a head on the train the following day—and it's not exactly romantic—in the loos. Harry's at the sink when Blaise walks in and their eyes meet in the mirror, green warring with brown, neither of them willing to be the first to look away. In the end it's Harry who gives in, reaching for a paper towel to dry his hands and pushing past him, unable to breathe in enough to avoid brushing against him as he passes.

"Potter," Zabini says, his hand closing around Harry's wrist, his breath warm in his ear. He spins Harry round to face him and before Harry has time to blink, he's being thoroughly kissed. He's vaguely aware of Zabini casting a locking spell as he's hoisted up against the wall and Harry locks his legs around Zabini's waist so he doesn't fall.

He's never even _kissed_ a boy before today—he's not exactly experienced in kissing girls either if he's honest with himself. He doesn't know what he's supposed to be _doing_ here—well, he's seen movies and he's got an idea, obviously, but he doesn't _know_ if what he's doing in response to Zabini's teasing lips is how it's supposed to be done.

There's something incredibly erotic about being pinned to the wall by someone bigger and stronger than you are and being kissed like this—he might not have much to compare to but this has to be how it's supposed to be—it's bloody brilliant. Zabini moves his lips to Harry's neck, and Harry instinctively tips his head to one side to allow him access, gasping in pleasure when he sucks on his collarbone, nibbling at the sensitive spot that Harry never knew he had.

It all jolts to a halt when there's a knock on the door and a shout of, "Who's in there?" and Zabini releases Harry and he sways as feet hit the floor again, grabbing onto Zabini's waist for support as he stares into his eyes, wondering what happens now.

Zabini traces a path down the side of Harry's face with the back of his hand. "I've wanted you since I knew what it was to want another person," he confesses. He shrugs. "How could I though? Me, a Slytherin, you Harry Potter—"

Harry blinks. This is possibly the most he's ever heard Zabini speak before. "A normal person might just ask me out," he manages, the memory of Zabini's lips on his making him shudder with desire. He wants more. One kiss is never going to be enough.

Zabini grins, his generous lips forming a smile that makes him almost glow. "That's what I've been trying to do these last few days—I decided I had to know if I had a chance…" he says. Then, "Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night?"

Harry's agreed before he's even aware he's moved his lips. Maybe it's worth the risk after all. Life's too short to be worrying about what might go wrong, especially when what just happened felt so _right_.

When he gets back to the carriage where Hermione and Ron are waiting for him and slides in, trying to look inconspicuous, Hermione glances up and says, "Did Zabini find you?"

"Judging by that bruise on his neck I'd say he did," Ron teases and winks.

Harry feels himself flush. "Blaise asked me on a date," he tells them. "I said yes." He settles back against the old upholstery and relaxes. For the first time since he can remember, he feels optimistic that perhaps his destiny didn't end with the fall of Voldemort and it's a fantastic feeling.

:::


End file.
